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In April 2019 I found the courage to do one of the hardest things I've ever done in posting the story of what happened to me in my first year of university; about how I was raped whilst in University halls.

"As some of you will know, I’ve been toying with the idea of posting this for quite a long time now but it hasn’t seemed quite the right moment to do it. There was the overriding feeling of embarrassment, fear of being judged, and mostly the fact that I was struggling to even admit any of this to myself.

Today is the day I finished a course of counselling from SRASAC and I’ve got to be honest, it didn’t finish on a high. It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that it’s the end of having someone there on a weekly basis, to talk to and have listen to me. But it’s not the end, and my friends have shown me just that.

Almost a year ago, I (in a ‘classic drunk Emily’ moment), remembered something horrific that had happened in first year whilst staying in university halls. My sober self couldn’t even remember that it had happened, until the flashbacks started flooding in and I couldn’t force myself to not remember anymore. Admitting what had happened was the worst thing, and it took one of my friends saying it out loud to allow me to accept that it had happened. I had been raped.

Talking to friends about what had happened was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done but it was also what got me through the next few months. Speaking about the things I was experiencing over and over when I was trying to sleep really did help. I had someone to share the burden with. Without you guys, I honestly don’t know what I’d have done.

You were there for me when I was at the lowest of lows. You were understanding and accepted all the shit I did even before any of us knew that this had happened. You made me smile when all I wanted to do was cry.

You might wonder why I’m posting this in such a public place when I could thank friends individually, in private. For me, the embarrassment of everything that happened is the biggest part of this that I needed to overcome. I was so embarrassed, even in front of myself. But, with help, that has changed.

I am not to blame for any of this or the way I reacted after all of this happened. I shouldn’t be embarrassed to stand up and tell people what happened either, because it is that fear that makes rape such a taboo thing to talk about.

Survivors are scared to talk about what happened to them for fear of being judged, or called a liar. Victim-blaming is all too commonplace in our society. I think the only way we can overcome that is by being brave and speaking about what has happened, with no apologies.

I don’t want your sympathy, or to be thought of in a different way. I’m the same person as I always have been. Actually, scrap that. I’m not the same person. I’m stronger than I was before all of this, and posting this is one of the bravest things I’ve done.

To all of you that helped me to get through this, Thank you. Even if it was just understanding. And, as someone told me I was never allowed to say again, I’m not sorry for any of this. I don’t have anything to apologise for." – 12th April 2019

Following this, I'm so pleased to say that I've decided to run Manchester Marathon and walk 100km across the Peak District in 2 days, for Rape Crisis England and Wales. Last year, the charity provided over 650,000 sessions for survivors, but this is not enough. 20% of women and 4% of men have experienced sexual assault since the age of 16. Waiting lists are long and the time taken between registering interest and receiving counselling can be months. With the help of donations the charity can facilitate more sessions to help survivors get the help they need. The counselling I received honestly changed everything for me, and I would like to help them by allowing more people to experience their amazing services too.

However, in order for people to access these services, victims must feel able to speak out about what has happened to them. When I first remembered everything that had happened, I couldn’t even bring myself to call it rape. I couldn’t be a rape victim, I couldn’t be the person this had happened to, it just couldn’t be me. A friend had to say the word for me because I couldn’t bring myself to.

I am going to address the word. It’s almost like saying Voldemort in that people are scared to use it. I didn’t want to call it by what it actually was in the beginning, telling my friends that I would rather it be anything but that word. Rape. The word so focused on in the media. It is a word which has a stigma attached to it. Say “rape” and suddenly people find it difficult to make eye contact with you or to speak about the subject. As a society we are terrified of rape to the point where silencing the victims is preferable to supporting those who are struggling and facing the reality of the terrible things our fellow human beings can do.

Rape is an act so disgusting that we find it hard to think about. It is one of the most terrible crimes to commit, degrading another animal of the same species to the point where they are too scared to feel anything. In that moment, fright is not the primary emotion. For me, it was nothing. My body had been taken possession of by another human and I could not bring myself to think. Survival mode had kicked in and I was a rag doll, frozen yet limp, no longer thinking.

So to fill you in, before I start, here are the basics of my experience. I started medical school as a school leaver, eighteen and eager to start my life in the adult world. As so many of us do, I went out to all of the Freshers Week events with my new friends, sitting in circles beforehand, playing mindless drinking games designed to get us smashed. On a late November night like so many others, we headed for the Students’ Union club. I wasn’t particularly drunk, just tipsy, and ready to have a couple more drinks before heading onto the dance floor. After that, the memory is pretty hazy but I do remember suddenly feeling incredibly weird, the presence of a stranger handing me a drink, what happened to me back in my dorm room, and the tears that followed. At the time though, I remembered none of this. I buried the memory so deep in my mind that my conscious mind forgot it had happened. But my subconscious hadn’t. Only two years later did the memories resurface.

The support of people around me was invaluable. I spoke to friends and family about how I felt as though there was a ‘before’ and ‘after’ version of myself, that I had changed since the assault. I reached out to the Medical School’s Pastoral Support team, consulted with the university Welfare services, and sought support from my GP. All of these people were essential in the healing process and with each conversation I had, talking about what had happened became a little easier.

A few months later I reached the top of the waiting list for the local Rape Crisis England and Wales counselling services. Going to the appointment for the first time was extremely difficult but the people were nice and immediately put me at ease. Soon, going for my weekly counselling appointments was one of the main things that kept me afloat. Sometimes, when I was having a really bad week, the counselling was what got me through it because it was a chance to talk about what had happened in a controlled environment, where I didn’t feel as though I was burdening anyone with the details. This appointment was for me and I was allowed to get everything off my chest.

There are many misconceptions about counselling. For example, therapy is not a cure for the post-traumatic stress rape survivors are going through. The counsellor can’t just wave a magic wand and make everything better, but they can be there to offer coping strategies and generally be someone who is happy to listen to whatever you have to say.

Through my time speaking with my counsellor I worked through many different issues. The emotional change was astounding. At the start of the process I had been embarrassed and upset whenever talking about the incident and emotions surrounding it, but as time went on the anger built up inside of me. It was during a counselling session, when I had admittedly switched off from what my counsellor was saying, that I suddenly felt a burning sensation right in the pit of my stomach. At first I thought it was anxiety but, as I focused on the feeling, I realized it was different. For the first time, I was feeling angry. None of it was my fault. It was his. I had nothing to be embarrassed about.

What also made me angry was how little awareness we, as a society who all know the word rape, know so little about it. Why is rape not mentioned in secondary schools across the country? Why are we not educated about rape – how to avoid it but also how not to become one of the bastards that commit it – in our schools? It should be as commonplace as sexual education and teachings of how to treat your fellow human being. If we were more aware in our early years maybe it would happen less later down the line.

A close friend told me that he had noticed the first time I properly smiled again, and laughed from my belly. It was on a day out with a group of my friends. Although I remember this day as a fun one, if I hadn’t been told I never would have realised that it was around that time that I actually started to laugh again. I could let myself go a little bit, joking around with people again. Where before I had been feeling almost numb to my feelings, I was starting to feel alive again.

Sometimes, it is hearing these words from other people that really makes the difference. I wish I had known back then that things had started to change for me. There were some good days, but for every good day there were probably two bad days. It would feel as though I was taking one step forward and two steps back, mainly because I couldn’t identify the good things myself.

It took a long time for me to realise that I needed to take a step back from my feelings and look at the whole picture. Although every bad day would probably feel ten times worse than a good day felt good, it wasn’t really like that. My good days were really good, compared to how they had been only months previously. I could do and enjoy things where before there had only been numbness. Seeing this was difficult, and hard to remember when I was having a particularly bad day, but I did get there eventually, with time, and with the help of all of these people around me.

I want to finish with a quote from Alice Sebold’s memoir, Lucky. “Since then I’ve always thought that under rape in the dictionary it should tell the truth. It is not just forcible intercourse; rape means to inhabit and destroy everything.” Please share this post and donate whatever you can, so that people’s lives can be rebuilt and they might find the strength to speak out. Thank you!